The House
by Gumnut
Summary: "Virgil, do you believe in god?"


Title: The House

Author: Gumnut

24 - 25 Mar 2019

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: "Virgil, do you believe in god?"

Word count: 3628

Spoilers & warnings: Some discussion of religion.

Timeline: Standalone

Author's note: Started as sleepy fic, then did whatever it felt like. I have no idea how this fic happened. I have the urge to disown it. I hope you enjoy it anyway. Many thanks to. scribbles97 and i-am-chidorixblossom for puttin gup with my whining about it :D

Disclaimer: Mine? You've got to be kidding. Money? Don't have any, don't bother.

-o-o-o-

The winds rushed down the mountain side and rattled the curtains and blinds of the old house. The windows were open in the bedroom and he lay curled up on the queen size, the breeze caressing his skin.

It was a cool wind. Created by the loss of the sun and its heat on the plain.

Outside, in the paddock, Thunderbird Two stood up on her struts, silent and regal, towering over the homestead.

The only sound was the sigh of the gully winds.

And he lay listening to it.

It was musical in its own way, like an evening lullaby. They had been known to be a howling banshee, but tonight they were simply gentle.

He needed them to be.

Why he was here, he didn't really know. It had been a mid-air decision, a course change on a whim. He just felt a need to be here.

Of course, it became obvious to John rather quickly and his questions just increased in urgency. In the end, Virgil had simply apologised and cut him off.

Sometimes there just were no answers.

So he parked his 'bird in the paddock and walked through the knee high grass to the house. He didn't have a key, so he went in through a window. No doubt the security system was screaming up a storm somewhere, but he didn't care.

A pair of knowledgeable hands and a few pulled wires solved most of that and he would fix the rest later.

No doubt Brains would improve the system as a result anyway.

He walked through the rooms, staring at the dust cloths, marshalling the memories, watching the ghosts as they danced in his minds eye. All his brothers were here. Various ages, various expressions. A nick in a door frame spoke of the time they had tried to move the couch out of the living room and into the kitchen on some hair-brained scheme involving their own home cooking show. The couch had made it, taking a chunk of the doorframe with it. It was the flour on the seat cushions that caused the most concern...well, until Grandma discovered the three raw eggs Gordon had stashed under the pillow, under his head, on the couch.

The kitchen was the focus of the building. The ghosts were almost solid. For a moment he thought he had tripped over Gordon, collided with Scott, only to turn around and come face to face with his mother.

But she evaporated as he froze. Younger knowledge overwriting what he would prefer to believe.

The dust on the floor held no footprints but his own.

He turned away and climbed the stairs to his room.

It was large. The Tracys had never been poor on space. They may have been short on money from time to time in those early days, but never short on space. The building had been built generations before Virgil, during a time of prosperity, and they had built big. So five boys, a sister, a grandmother and her son had as much room as they needed,

He yanked the dust-covers off his bedroom furniture and threw it all out into the hall and for a moment, he was home again, the paraphernalia he had left behind still scattered around him like a snapshot from his personal history. He opened the windows to let the evening breeze in and sat down almost involuntarily on the bed.

Why had he come here?

There were only memories, no answers.

"Virgil?"

He sighed.

"Virgil!"

His lips thinned a moment before he slapped his comms off and unbuckling his baldric, threw it to the floor. He resisted the sudden urge to stomp on it in a fit of childish temper.

Instead he stared down at his hands, still wrapped in his blue gloves. They blurred a moment as he realised they were stained, flaky brown caught in the stitching and seams.

Suddenly he couldn't get them off fast enough. They hit the floor beside his baldric with a solid thud as he stood up, ants suddenly under the lining of his uniform. His eyes traced more stains, red-brown caught in the fabric, soaked into the edges of his pads as if attempting to reach through the material and leach into his skin.

An incoherent sound and his fingers were scrabbling at his harness and his belt. His toolkit his the wooden floor with a clatter. The clink of his harness followed and it was with some urgent desperation that the rest of his uniform followed, boots and all. He stared at it, a pile of blue fabric and silicon leather.

It was kicked out the door to join the dust cloths in the hallway.

He ended up standing in the middle of his room in only his black t-shirt and shorts.

Hunching a little he returned to his seat upon the bed and resumed staring at the floorboards.

Ultimately, he had no idea how long he sat there, thinking nothing and doing less. At some point he curled up on the bed. It was hazy there for a bit, the only constant being the winds blowing down through the gullies into his window...just like they had when he was a boy.

His mother would come and secure the windows for the night, closing them just enough to let the cooling breeze in, but not let the curtain billow and rattle enough to keep him awake. The bed had been smaller then, the dresser higher, the room larger. She used to sit on the side of the bed and sing to him. She had shared her love of music and to this day he kept those tunes close to his heart.

Mom...

If he closed his eyes he could imagine the breeze was his mother's fingers playing with his hair.

He squeezed his eyes tight, shutting out the remainder of the evening light as moisture attempted to pool in their corners.

Control...breathe through it.

He let it all go on an exhale, ignoring the faint whimper that accompanied it.

Another breath, somewhat shaky, calmed with another exhale, and he let his body fall limp on the bed, tense muscles relaxing.

Oh god.

The breeze rushed over his skin teasing goose pimples. He grabbed the edge of the old doona and rolled himself into it, facing away from the dresser, away from the windows and, cocooning himself safe, he hid.

-o-o-o-

Virgil's report of his mission failure had been professional and succinct. His voice was its usual confident self, the content factual and unemotional.

Perhaps that should have been the clue.

Halfway across the United States, Thunderbird Two committed a flight path deviation and landed in Kansas.

And Virgil stopped answering his comms.

John knew where his brother was and even possibly why, but that didn't make him any less worried.

After half an hour of dead air from TB2, John was really beginning to worry.

His first instinct would have been to contact Scott, but his eldest brother was currently in Japan attending a cable car disaster with Gordon and Alan. So, asking Grandma to fill in for him, her worry as blatant as his own, he took his second option and realigned TB5 with Kansas and, dropping down to Earth, went after Virgil himself.

It only took a matter of minutes. Gravity was its usual obstacle, but he chose to ignore it. He would likely pay for that later, but he had more important considerations at the moment.

It didn't take him long to find the jimmied window, or to climb through and follow the dusty footprints. His own tread was near silent in his spacesuit, only the creaking floorboards betrayed his passing.

The air was stale and old. The family hadn't returned here since Dad had gone missing. No one had mentioned it, probably because no one wanted to face this place without him. It was still functional, fully furnished, protected, awaiting its owners' return should they need it. The building was huge, but the Tracy family had long outgrown it and moved out to save the world.

John followed the footprints up the stairs. He passed his own empty room as the trail led him directly to Virgil's and the pile of discarded dust cloths outside his door. He frowned at the balled up uniform and the green of his brother's baldric.

Stepping ever so quietly around the mess, he peered in.

A huddled shape was curled up on the bed.

"Virgil?"

The shape made a muffled sound.

"Virgil?"

"What?!" The head that shot up angrily held a mess of black hair and a pair of red-rimmed and bloodshot eyes. The eyes frowned. "John?"

He took a step inside the room. "Are you okay?"

"What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you. You wouldn't answer your comms."

His brother turned away from him. "Sorry."

John frowned again. The single word was a mix of sincerity and put-upon sarcasm. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Do you honestly think I'm going to believe that? You're half naked, lying in an old bed in a deserted house."

"So what do you want me to say?"

"The truth wouldn't hurt."

Virgil stared at him a moment, only to look away again and not answer.

John sighed, walked over to the bed and sat on the edge in echo of something he had done so many times as a boy. He used to come in here and talk Virgil's ear off about space and stars and his latest science projects. Virgil, in turn, would nod, say the right things at the right time and generally be the good older brother. John suspected that Virgil hadn't understood half of what he was saying, but the older boy had never said anything. Not that Virgil wasn't smart, just his interests lay in different areas.

They were both quiet by nature and Virgil's patience drew John to him. Mostly because he would listen. One of the hardest things about being a far above average student with very specific interests was finding someone to talk to about them. John wasn't a big talker outside the family, but that was because society in general was lost two words into any sentence he wanted to construct. John had no use for general gossip when he had spent the day discovering a new extra-solar object. Who cared who won the football when Neptune was aligning with Earth in a way that wouldn't happen for another one hundred and sixty five years?

It was Virgil who stopped and listened as a young John Tracy babbled about his latest discoveries.

He was his big brother.

"It wasn't your fault."

"I know that." It was rough and abrupt.

"You did your best."

"I know that, too." A sigh. "John, I just...need to be alone right now."

"I don't believe you."

"What?" At least Virgil shoved the cover off his head to glare at him for that. Could be considered progress.

"If you had truly wanted to be alone, you'd be back on the island on some deserted beach, or locked in your room or your studio." He looked around at the memories held in stasis. "Here...here you are far from alone." Memories danced.

Virgil swallowed, looking anywhere but at John, before letting his head drop to stare at the doona wrapped around him.

"Why are you here, Virgil?"

His brother didn't answer, just throwing himself back down under the doona and curling up.

John sighed.

Perhaps another angle.

"Did you know Alan stores his marshmallow stash on Three? Scott discovered it yesterday and promptly stole half of it in revenge for Alan stealing his chocolate stash last week." He waited.

Muffled. "How do you know that?"

"I have ways."

"Spies?"

"Spy."

"Eos."

"Uh huh."

"Why you telling me then?"

"So you know how I know who you are currently painting."

As predicted that did it. Virgil sat up, immediately angry. "What the hell have you been doing in my studio?"

Calmly. "I haven't been in your studio, Virgil."

"But Eos has."

"Yes, she has. And you can't complain, because she can't knock over paint or damage your paintings. We...just like to keep an eye on you."

"Why?" Brown eyes were staring suspiciously.

"Because unbeknownst to the rest of my family, I'm not a damned hermit." Perhaps he hadn't meant to say it quite that way, but at least he had his brother's attention now. "I like to see how my family is going and it is not like I can just poke my head in the door to check up on you is it?"

"Ah, yes, you can and have." Virgil's eyes narrowed. "Are you okay up there?"

John shifted where he sat. "We are fine. The subject at hand is you, Virgil."

An immediate retreat. "I'm fine."

Oh, for god's sake. "I know you are painting Mom and Dad."

Virgil didn't react. Didn't say anything.

"This morning wasn't your fault."

"No, it was fate."

John frowned. "What?"

"It was damned fate, John. Fate that I grabbed that extra mouthful of coffee before leaving. Fate that I had a head wind in transit. Fate that I was too damn late to save anyone!"

His brother was trembling, fire in his eyes. But it wasn't a passionate fire, it was one that consumed, damaged and left nothing but ash.

"Virgil-"

"Why, John? Why does it keep taking? It took Mom. It took Dad. It took that entire family. WHY?!" Virgil hit the bed, the mattress simply springing back as if nothing had happened. "I keep trying and she keeps taking." This last was said in a failing voice, Virgil's baritone cracking.

John took in a breath. "Virgil, do you believe in god?"

Brown eyes latched onto him, desperation in their depths. He didn't answer immediately, those eyes shifting away to look back down at the bed. "I did." A pause. "I do." His brother swallowed, his shoulders dropping. "I don't know anymore."

John wasn't a toucher, but he felt the urge to reach out and put his hand on his brother's shoulder.

He didn't. He simply answered. "Neither do I."

Virgil stared at him. Their family had been brought up to trust in god. To thank and obey and do good. When their mother was taken, their father's faith was shaken. The family struggled, but eventually that god was welcomed back.

Their faith didn't survive the loss of their father. Not in a family sense. Each brother had taken on their own thoughts, wrestled with the demons of life the best they could. John knew Scott had lost most of his. Scott had born the brunt of the loss of both their parents. Harsh reality had beaten faith from the man. He wouldn't use the word 'bitter' in relation to Scott. The situation was more a disillusion, a broken trust that could never be forgiven.

The two youngest Tracy's still went through some of the motions of faith, but John doubted the spirit was behind them.

John, himself, hadn't entirely lost his beliefs. They had just changed, evolving into a reverence of the universe, an amazement at the possibilities and sheer awe at creation itself. Whether there was an deity at the centre of it all? He had learnt enough to know he didn't know enough to make a determination. But there was hope, there was imagination, and just that little bit of magic beyond all the science.

Virgil, he knew, didn't follow any of the rituals and his celebration of religious holidays like Christmas and Easter was mostly secular. But he had always thought that of all of them, Virgil was the most spiritual. With his connection to the world around him, his sensitivity, his art, and, despite all the horrors he had witnessed, his belief in the good in people, Virgil was the most likely to hold on to his faith. And as far as John could see he had. As part of who he was more than anything else. Something quiet and kept to himself.

To see him sitting here questioning it...

"You came here for Mom and Dad."

That did it. Those red rimmed brown eyes blinked and teared up. John swallowed himself, his throat growing tight.

Those eyes stared at him a moment longer before Virgil once again let himself drop to the bed, this time staring up at the ceiling. "For god's sake, Johnny." An awkward sniff.

"Am I right?"

"Does it matter?"

"It matters to you."

His brother ran a hand across his face. "Goddamnit." A hitched sigh. "Why?"

"It was meant to be."

"How can you say that? How can the death of a family of five be 'meant to be'? I had their blood all over my goddamned hands, John! There wasn't a damn thing I could do. I tried! I tried so damned hard and I couldn'-" He broke off with a strangled sound.

This time John did reach out and touch his brother's leg through the bedclothes. "I'm sorry, Virgil. I'm so very sorry you had to experience that."

"It sucks."

John squeezed his leg.

There was a silence for some time. Virgil biting his lip trying to control his emotions. John simply holding onto that leg and honestly trying to work out whether he should offer his brother a hug or not. He had no doubt that if their positions had been reversed, Virgil would have grabbed him already, but John was hesitant to take the step himself and felt the shame of that indecision.

Eventually, it was Virgil who broke the silence. He cleared his throat. "If there is a god, I'm not very happy with them today."

"If there is a god, I'm sure they understand why."

"Well, good luck to them, because I don't understand their motivation at all in any shape or form."

"It is not ours to understand."

The glare from the bed slapped him across the face. "That much is obvious with the whole I don't understand thing."

"Virgil-"

But his brother sat up abruptly. "You were right." He shimmied across the bed to the edge and put his feet on the floor. "I did come here for Mom and Dad. And I was stupid to think I would find either of them here. Call it a fantasy and let's go home." He reached for his boots.

"Virgil, come here." John held out his arm, gesturing towards himself with his hand.

His big brother stared up at him. "John, you don't have to-"

"Come here." The Space Monitor spoke and Thunderbird Two automatically obeyed. John couldn't help but smile just a little at the reaction.

Virgil scowled at him. "Smart ass."

John dropped his arm around his brother's shoulders and drew his head onto his own. Virgil was larger than he, but shorter, and John used every inch he had to his advantage. "You may be my big brother, but I've been keeping an eye on you for a long time now and it might be my turn to help you."

Virgil frowned. "You've always help-"

"Virgil, shut up."

His brother's eyes widened, but his mouth closed.

"I don't know if there is a god, I don't know why Mom and Dad were taken, or why that family had to die. All I know is that I have a good brother who tried. Who always tries. If I have faith, it is definitely faith in you. You and the rest of our family. We do good, Virgil. The universe can not ask any more of us."

Quiet. "What if it does?"

"We can only give what we have."

"Until we have nothing."

John's heart lurched. "Virgil-"

"Johnny, thank you." His brother reached around and clasped his shoulder. "I appreciate this more than you realise, I promise. I just...I just need time." A weak smile. "I'll be fine. Trust me."

That heart fell into his boots. "Virgil-"

But his brother was heading towards the door, grabbing his uniform. "You need a lift home?"

John shook his head. "I need to return to space. No acclimatisation time."

Realisation sunk in on Virgil's face. "Shit, John, Of course, why the hell didn't I...Scott will be pissed."

"You were distracted. And besides, Scott is going to be too busy yelling at you for your course deviation to even notice I dropped in."

"Good point." A sigh. "Thank you, John. Sorry for the worry."

"I'm used to worry, Virgil. I have four brothers, one sister and a variety of extended family who regularly attempt to turn my hair various shades of colour."

"Don't worry, it's mutual." A breath. "And John? I do have faith in you, and Scott, and Gordon, and Alan, and Kayo, and Grandma, and Brains. You...you are my family and we do do good. I just wish..." Virgil didn't finish the sentence. He threw his uniform back on, grabbed the dust covers and with John's help, spread them across the furniture, including the bed.

Following their footsteps back to the window, Virgil reset the alarm and they darted over the pane, closing it behind them.

The elevator decelerated into the field and John strode towards it, watching his brother approach his 'bird. Virgil reached one of Thunderbird Two's struts and for just a moment, reached out and touched it, running his hand over the cold metal before dropping his head against it and closing his eyes.

John opened his mouth, but the moment passed and Virgil moved on to the open hatch and was swallowed by the green behemoth.

"John?"

"Yes, Eos?"

"Is Virgil well?"

"I don't know. I really don't know."

-o-o-o-

FIN.


End file.
